Grief still comes to visit me quite often.
Too often for my taste.
He steals into my thoughts slyly, cunningly, ruthlessly.
He is an ill-natured, inconsiderate, rude fellow,
Who makes me listen to his harsh reprimands.
He is full of rebukes and gibes.
And he reminds me of my regrets.
I failed to or forgot to do this
Or that, or the other for my lost lover.
Grief is impolite and demanding.
He butts in when and where he isnt wanted.
Always pushing and thrusting his way
Into my daily life that I thought
I had finally smoothed out and settled
Like his mother's crazy quilt on our bed.
He comes when I am just beginning
To take a path toward comfort.
But, no, its not to be.
I must endure another whipping.
Another thrashing, another dose of salts.
"You want solace! Ill give you solace!
It will end when you are done and gone.
It will finish when I say so.
Not before, and not because you wish me gone."
Grief came last night without warning,
Creeping in, settling down, poking me awake.
For what reason I do not know
And tore me apart again
With memories of a past of pain
Of things undone, of acts of unkindness.
"You must never forget," says Grief.
"How can I, with you forever on my back?"
Grief makes me recall.
Makes me wish I were the one gone.
But, then Grief offered me some sympathy.
"Remember, dear friend, he cannot die again."